


Counting Bodies like Sheep

by bossyluigi



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossyluigi/pseuds/bossyluigi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What a shame it was to be where he was-- alive, yes, but on the brink of a breakdown at any moment. That midpoint between complete control and total lack of was a frightening line to straddle. With maternal ties cut, there was nothing but emptiness slowly filling to the brim with rage. </p><p> </p><p>In which Edward Nygma tries to urge a sleep deprived Oswald back to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting Bodies like Sheep

It was as dreary a city as ever-- what with it's never ending darkness. For most, the night seemed to be the playground of criminals and the feast of the damned. It was the uncertainty that lie around every corner that ultimately kept people chained to their couches, their beds, and their loved ones. It was a pitiful sight to behold. This night in particular was one of those that brought the deepest contemplations to the forefront of all thought. Perhaps it was due to the rain that patted against spotless windows or the occasional breath that fogged it with every exhale. Insulated walls weren't a luxury, especially in the run down apartment that was 805 Grundy. There was a chance of catching one's death if they sat there for too long.

What a shame it was to be where he was-- _alive_ , yes, but on the brink of a breakdown at any moment. That midpoint between complete control and total lack of was a frightening line to straddle. With maternal ties cut, there was nothing but emptiness slowly filling to the brim with rage. Not even fury fueled punches to the gut of an unsuspecting Leonard could help. As much fun as it was to watch the man squirm, it was only a past-time to keep him occupied until he lost interest and sunk again. The simplest term was _depression_. It was a clichéd idea only reserved for teenaged high-schoolers and postpartum as far as he was concerned. Still, it was a weakness that no one in Gotham wanted leaked to the others all looking to take control.

A hushed sigh followed by the resting of a forehead to frigid glass cooled the rising heat of anger. For a smaller man, he could harness just as much fury and intimidation as someone three times his size. It was one of the only known abilities that he was able to pin down and use for his own benefit. In due time, revenge would be dealt accordingly and Gotham would be his. They had taken it from him-- They had done away with him-- Oh would they be surprised to find him back in the game and ready to take on the world. 

 

" _Mr. Penguin?_ "

 

The voice cut through the silence like a blade. What had they talked about? After dark meant silence. Owning up to the fact that the voice had made him jump would've been a miracle in itself. Appearance and facade was everything in a town like this. 

 

Attention shifted from neon lights flickering green against the sheen of falling raindrops to the figure across the room. There wasn't much motion at first, but when an arm extended from beneath the mess of quilted squares to pluck a pair of spectacles from the side table, he knew his companion was awake. 

 

"You should be sleeping, Mr. Penguin. Your shoulder hasn't quite healed yet and it would be an awfully tedious morning to come should you refuse the extra time to get back into fighting form." Of course it'd be casual vernacular from a forensics man. If Oswald had the energy, he'd shoot down the observation in an instant, but he was surprisingly calm. 

The edges of his mouth curled into something of a pained smile. Forcing a smile should've been easy for him to manage seeing as he had done the very action for his mother on plenty of occasions. If he seemed to be at ease, then she, his darling mother, would've been at ease. He had no need to change now that she was gone, but it always lifted the eyes from him as well as the worry that hung heavy in the air at all times. "Your offers are thoughtful, but I'm fine. One can't properly stretch out when they're pinned under that quilt of yours." A jagged finger points towards the lackluster blanket that does absolutely nothing to help the room look any less disheveled. "Go back to bed. I should be there in a few minutes." 

 

Hopefully that was enough to get the other off his back. Truth be told, his earlier threats to disappear for good were thwarted by a sudden need to remain somewhere safe, somewhere warm, somewhere that he knew he'd have a bed and someone to sleep besides. Despite being almost a complete stranger, Edward was starting to grow on him. There was a good chance that the dynamic between them would change, just-- not at the moment. All thought for now were reserved for Theo Galavan. 

 

Possible scenarios of how he could be killed ran like a movie reel in his head: gutting, suffocation, torture, drugs, electrocution, the classic two fisted beating-- anything goes when it's revenge I suppose. No matter which method of extermination came to mind, none seemed to be quite as fitting for the current mayor of Gotham. He needed something big, extravagant, and not to mention excruciatingly painful. Oswald wanted to hear him scream for mercy. Nothing pleased him more than to disregard someone's begging. 

 

To his displeasure, the figure across the room moved once more. "Mr. Penguin--" 

 

" _Oswald._ " 

 

"O-Oswald... As long as you're in my home I insist that you listen to my advice. Once your shoulder heals, you can do whatever you please. Just for a while longer." Once his glasses were situated on the bridge of his nose, Edward Nygma rose from bed and made his way across the room in an almost nervous manner. Dealing with a time bomb as precious as Oswald Cobblepot was no easy task. His range of emotion could change in an instant, so keeping him calm was a skill. A small inkling of a smile bridged the uncomfortable silence with a hint of reassurance. The last thing Ed wanted was ill feelings between them. If anything, he wanted to use this time to make an impression on the criminal. If they became friends, imagine all of the tips and tricks they could share regarding their very-- interesting passion for homicide. Keeping Oswald happy and healthy was the reason for all this after all. Ed could hold a facade just as easily as The Penguin himself. 

       Eye contact would have warranted too much discomfort, Oswald knew that when he had accidentally woken his host. The foot of the piano bench would have to suffice for a way to avert his eyes from the gaze he knew was undoubtedly on him. "I don't have a while. I have work I have to do whether this shoulder's healed or not." The grip he had on the edge of the pinstripe pajamas he'd been lent tightened. "I don't think you grasp the severity of this situation, Ed. Theo Galavan's ruined my life, and I won't rest until I've ruined his." 

        He couldn't get that face out of his thoughts. It was the face of that bastard as he watched the final moment between mother and son . It was a face that Oswald would never forget. A growl rose in his throat. That man would pay-- _he would pay_. The growl rose to a roar and the man's face collided with the freezing window once more. Pallid flesh burned at the feeling of such sudden change in temperature yet he continued, again and again, to ram his face into the window until the was nothing but a reasonable sized lump that would definitely bring on a bruise in the near future. If it wasn't for Ed, who knows how long he would've gone on for. 

       Slender fingers moved wrap around his arm before pulling him back away from the temptation of self-harm again. "Theo Galavan is a problem, yet, but how do you expect to avenge your mother by taking your anger out on yourself? You could've easily talked to me about it. I'm here, I'm awake, and I have the ability to respond to whatever it is you wish to tell me. I find that talking about my problems seems to help me sort them out." By talking, he meant speaking aloud to himself or whatever corpse he had on the slab in the GCPD. Talking to corpses and oneself might've been the cause for his new-- temperament, but he couldn't be sure. The whole of it felt normal. 

       Oswald had grown silent. Talking about problems was juvenile to him. He'd much rather deal with fists than with words. 

       "Now, let me take a look at the damage you've done to yourself. Just when I thought you'd finally started to calm down you go and do something like this." Ed's words are accompanied with a smile. He's not entirely upset with the other, simply facing a challenge. Oswald himself was a riddle with no definite answer. In due time, figuring him out would be a breeze, that is, if he decided to settle in long enough for Ed to observe him down to the tiniest of details. 

       A swat of the smaller man's hand brought slender fingers away from him for only a moment. "Don't _touch_ me. You've done enough." Were there no means of escape from this place? Were there no open windows for him to shimmy through? Nothing to pick open the locks when Ed was gone? Truthfully, if he wanted to leave, he could've. God-- it was so difficult to make a clear decision about his residence and course of action! If he stayed, he could've made sandwiches with spicy mustard, even though it was almost gone by now. If he left, then he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to get the guys back together to go after Galavan. Sure, he could just invite Gabe over and plan things where it was safe. The later was probably the best as far as getting to work without actually having to leave the confines of 805 Grundy. 

       His mangled leg dragged along at his side during the trek from the window back to bed. Sleeping might've been for the weak, but for now it was just to pass the time. If Ed tried so much as to touch him again, there would be repercussions, however, Ed didn't follow him. Instead, he took his time watching the tantrum unfold before moving to the kitchenette. From one of the taller cabinets, one that Oswald would've been able to reach without a bench of stool of some sort, and pulled a small tin from the back. It was settled and unhitched on the countertop with delicacy. Whatever was inside was important. Oswald couldn't help but find himself intrigued. 

       "What's that?"

       "You did just slam your face into a frozen window, did you not?" 

       For one well versed in assessing dead people, he could handle the living just as well if he tried hard enough. There was enough in the little tin for him to be able to patch up whatever Oswald had done to his forehead, if he had done anything at all. In a few strides he had crossed the room and taken a seat on the edge of the bed. Oswald had made it a point to nestle into the blankets as a way to hide. It was later than he expected, so why would they stay up if only to worry about a little bump? Besides, his hair would be able to hide it without any problems at all. 

       "Let me see." Once again, slender fingers slipped past the mass of blanket in order to worm his hand under his once orderly bunches of hair. They weren't that way anymore. Instead of neat points, they mushed together into a clump of curls and twists flattened down by a mixture of condensation and sweat. He was still fighting against the pain in his shoulder. All this unwanted movement was tearing at the stitching job Ed had attempted. Sure it wasn't great, but it was better than having to turn the criminal in at the hospital. 

       Just as he expected: a lump. It was already starting to take form in the dead center of his forehead. 

       Despite wanting to be touched, Oswald said nothing. The hand on his forehead reminded him an awful lot of his mother. Curse these feelings! He was supposed to be angry. That anger was supposed to mask his sadness; his _depression_. Every muscle in his body wanted to contract and knock the other onto the floor. If he didn't want to be touched then what was this stupid hand doing on his face? 

      "It's just a bump. It'll be gone in a few days if you try not to aggravate it. It might be bruised, but your hair will cover it." Damp, black strands fall back into place once Ed removed his hand. He would be fine. Stubbornness isn't something that can be cured as easily as something like this. Patience always helps, but he was positive Oswald would end up brooding about it for a while longer. 

       Ed's figure moved from the bedside to take up residence besides Oswald. They only had to make it through the night and the discomfort would fade into another busy morning. Ed would be out at work, and Oswald would wake up to an empty bed, made despite having a second occupant on the other side. It was how it went just about every night, but they'd forget throughout the day only to relive it in variation. Somehow, Ed was alright with it. Each night, despite things being the same, he managed to learn something new about his beloved Penguin. 

       Whether or not Oswald knew, he was the toughest riddle Ed would ever solve. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've ever written to be posted on Archive and I'm really excited!
> 
> It's the jumping off point for a lot of cool things to come!  
> I hope everyone likes it! 
> 
> Nygmobblepot is A+ in my book!!!


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